There is tragedy, therefore, in the fact that when, so soon afterwards, Sebastopol fell, the triumph was not his.
It was on September 8, amid a furious storm which suddenly broke up a summer-like day, that the cannonade joined with the thunder and the final assault was made. Though the first shouts of victory came at the end of an hour, it was nightfall before the fighting ceased and the Russians retreated. Sebastopol was in flames. And before the next day dawned the last act in this terrible war-drama was over.
Within a month of leaving Scutari Miss Nightingale was already there again, and during these days of slowly returning strength, when she wandered sometimes through the beautiful cemetery where the strange, black-plumaged birds fly above the cypresses and, against the background of the blue Bosphorus, the roses garland the tombs, she planned, for the soldiers who had fallen, the monument which now stands there to their undying memory, where under the drooping wings of the angels that support it are inserted the words, “This monument was erected by Queen Victoria and her people.”
CHAPTER XVIII.
The Nightingale Fund—Miss Nightingale remains at her post, organizing healthy occupations for the men off duty—Sisters of Mercy—The Queen’s jewel—Its meaning.
Far and wide spread the news of the fall of Sebastopol, and London took the lead in rejoicings. The Tower guns shouted the victory, the arsenals fired their salutes, cathedrals and village churches rang out their welcome to peace. There were sons, husbands, brothers, fathers, for whom there would be no more home-coming on earth; and some who would come back broken and maimed: but all had served their country, and heroism lasts beyond time and death.
All through the empire arose an outcry of thanksgiving to the woman who still remained at her post among the sick and the dying—the woman who had saved England’s honour in the day of disgrace and neglect, and had saved also countless lives among her brave sons.
The Queen and all her people were eager to know what there was that they might lay at her feet. In one form only would Miss Nightingale accept the testimony offered—namely, the means of yet further work. The Herberts knew she had longed to organize a hospital on the lines of unpaid nursing, but there was a difficulty for the moment, because she could not bring herself to leave the East until her work there was fully completed, and such a hospital must, they thought, have her presence from the first. Just now she was with Sister Aloysius at Balaclava, nursing one of her staff, and while there an accident on the rough roads, which injured not only herself, but also the Sister who was walking beside her, led to a thoughtful kindness from Colonel Macmurdo, who had a little carriage especially made for her. In this little carriage, through the cutting cold and snow of a Crimean winter, she would drive about among the camp hospitals with no escort but her driver, as she returned through the dark night at the end of her long day of self-imposed duties. Sometimes she has stood for hours on a cold, shelterless rock, giving her directions, and when one and another of her friends entreated against such risk and exposure, she would just smile with a quiet certainty that, for all that in her eyes was her clear duty, strength and protection would certainly be given.
She was much occupied in helping and uplifting the convalescent, and not only these, but also all the soldiers in camp in the army of occupation, which was for a while to be left in the East until the treaty was signed, and would necessarily be surrounded by special temptations in time of peace. Her way of fighting drunkenness—and after Sebastopol you may be sure there was a good deal of “drinking of healths”—was to provide all possible means of interest and amusement. Huts were built, clubs were formed. Stationery was provided for letters home. So effectually was every one in England interested that, while Queen Victoria herself led the way in sending newspapers and magazines, all through the country her example was followed.